Kill Bryce
by crystal.elements
Summary: AU. Bryce successfully uploads Intersect 2.0 and escapes the clutches of The Ring, but not without consequences. Two years later, insanity has exploded back into Chuck's life. It's time to kill or be killed...no one escapes the game of corruption. HIATUS.
1. Prologue

_This has been a long time coming! Finally, Crystal's first attempt at a real and in-depth multichapter project! I've been so excited about this, guys, you don't even know. Factoid: Kill Bryce actually started off as a Chuck adaptation of the movie "Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind" over a year ago...until I started college, lost track of things, and hit a plot roadblock. Then, of course, it was **Frea O'Scanlin** who came to the rescue during one of our many chats. She threw an idea at me, it snowballed (like many of her various plotbunnies usually do) and turned into a full-fledged behemoth. Hours of brainstorming and mapping out later, you get this. ;)_

_Many thanks go out to **Frea**, who is my partner in crime and is partially responsible for my corruption, a.k.a my leap away from writing adorable fluff fanfiction. She and I had an argument over the amount of credit she deserves in this story, and we've agreed on 12%. (Personally, I think she deserves much more, but she refused. Stubborn girl, that one.) Seriously, guys, I know you know she's awesome, but words cannot express just how much. She's been with me every step of the way, and I can't thank her enough. Similar sentiments go out to the most amazing beta ever, **mxpw**. He's the guy who's willing to listen to me at any hour of the day and puts up with my constant omg-I-can't-do-this's when it comes to my writing. Also, he just plain rocks. His birthday was this past Friday, y'know. If you haven't wished him a Happy Birthday yet, drop him a quick PM!_

_Quick note: The first half of this chapter is going to seem very similar to the final scene in S2's Chuck Versus The Ring. I assure you, it branches off into AU territory almost immediately, so bear with me. :)_

_Disclaimer: I don't own Chuck. I also don't own Kill Bill, which doesn't matter anyway since it has absolutely no connection to the title of this story. Heh._

_

* * *

_

**Kill Bryce**

_by crystalelements_

* * *

**Prologue**

**April 20, 2009**

**10:37 p.m. **

**Secret Intersect Location, CA**

Every so often, Chuck reminded himself that he really wasn't cut out for the whole "super secret agent" thing. This just so happened to be one of those times. With the Intersect finally out of his head, Chuck hoped it would be the last—here, inside of an air conditioning vent that lead straight to the Intersect Vault.

Ironic.

Before he had any more time to dwell on the matter, the opening to the vent gave out from under him, and Chuck fell into the brightly lit room with nonexistent grace. Wheezing, he rolled onto his side.

Yeah, he was definitely _not _spy material.

The thought came to an abrupt halt as he came face to face with Bryce, who was slumped against the Intersect base. The agent offered him a weak grin.

"Hello, Chuck."

Chuck frantically scrambled forward on all fours. "Bryce! Bryce, Casey and Sarah…" His eyes widened in panic when he finally noticed the blood spreading across Bryce's side. "Oh my god, you've been shot!"

Bryce gave him a pointed look: _Yeah, no kidding. _"I'll be fine," he said offhandedly, though his harsh breathing said otherwise. "Look, Chuck, I need you—" He dug a hand into his coat pocket and pulled out an external card. "I need you to use this, put it into the computer. It'll destroy the Intersect."

Chuck blanched. "What? B-but you need the Intersect to fight Fulcrum!"

"Already uploaded it," Bryce replied, tapping a finger against his head. He pushed the card into Chuck's hand. "But they don't know that, and they won't find out. This computer is too dangerous, too powerful. It can't fall into the wrong hands again." He clenched his teeth as another spasm of pain coursed through his body; he was fading fast. "Fulcrum…Fulcrum is only one part of The Ring. They'll use it again us, Chuck, they'll…" He trailed off, eyes fluttering shut.

Chuck was really freaking out now. "_Bryce!_ Come on, hold on, don't die on me now, you can't die on me!"

"Destroy it, Chuck," Bryce repeated, his voice barely audible. "You…have to…"

"Bryce! _Bryce—_" Chuck's hand shot to Bryce's neck, feeling for any sign of life. The vein pulsed weakly beneath his fingertips. The sigh of relief that escaped Chuck's lips was short-lived; they needed to get out of here _now_.

With a newfound determination, Chuck sprang to his feet and jammed the card into the computer. Warning signals went off with a high-pitched whine. The computer screen displayed the words "Warning: Power Surge, System Failure" in red before it flickered and cracked. The Intersect cube short-circuited and slowed to a stop. A shockwave swept the entire room, sizzling across the floors and walls like an electrical current.

Before Chuck could use Orion's wrist computer to call for help, the door to the Intersect Vault slid open with a hiss. One of Casey's men stepped into the room, gun drawn and eyes searching. He fixed Chuck with a piercing glare.

"What'd you do?"

No doubt a member of the group Bryce had mentioned. Chuck stared on defiantly. Fuming, the man Casey called Miles walked forward and pointed the gun directly at Chuck's heart.

"_What did you do?"_

"I destroyed it," Chuck said, a hint of smugness seeping into his reply. "You're too late."

If looks could kill, he certainly would've been dead on the spot.

"For that, you'll die last," Miles snarled, lowering his weapon and stalking toward the Intersect base. Behind him, four more Ring members entered the vault, shoving a handcuffed Sarah and Casey ahead of them.

Sarah looked to Chuck first, sweeping over him to check for any injuries. Then her eyes dropped down to the unmoving body next him, and she stiffened in horror.

"_Bryce?_"

Three steps later, she was violently dragged back by two of the Ring lackeys, their guns trained on her. Again she looked wildly to Chuck, who stepped protectively over Bryce as the other two lackeys surrounded them. At her silent question, he gave a subtle shake of his head:

_He's alive._

"There's nothing left!"

Casey sneered, expression full of hatred as he glared at his former teammate. "So you lose."

Miles straightened from the ruined computer, eyes narrowing into dangerous slits. "You should know this," he said, walking toward the handcuffed agents. "No one stops us. No one ever has."

"Who are you?" Sarah demanded, her voice wavering.

Miles smirked. "Spies, Agent Walker." With that, he raised his gun to shoot.

"The best."

"No!" All eyes turned to a very pale Chuck, who'd taken a step forward, hand outstretched. "Wait! Don't shoot her, _please!_"

The smirk on Miles's face became absolutely wicked. He turned back to Sarah and took aim. "No, I think I'll do just that."

"A deal! I'll make you a deal!" Chuck said frantically, taking another step even with all four lackeys pointing their weapons at him. "I'll get you another Intersect!"

That did the trick. Sarah and Casey's eyes widened simultaneously as the implications behind his offer clicked into place.

"Bartowski!_"_

"Chuck, _no!_"

Miles paused, surprise flickering across his face. Taking the bait, he turned to Chuck, his gun still trained on Sarah. "You have five seconds to convince me, or I put a bullet through her head."

"Bartowski," Casey bellowed, "don't you _dare—_"

Chuck ignored him. "Orion! He can make you another one, he's the only one who can do it, I can get him to make it for you—"

"_Chuck, NO!" _Sarah screamed again, eyes wide with horror. Miles tightened his hold on his gun, ready to pull the trigger.

"Two seconds—"

"_I'm his son! _Take me hostage, he'll do whatever you want!"

A deathly silence followed the outburst. Miles slowly lowered his gun, eyes boring into Chuck's.

"You're Orion's son?"

Chuck gulped. "Yes." He visibly shuddered as Miles raised the gun again for good measure. "Yes, _yes! _I_ swear_! Look, the Intersect's been destroyed again, and no doubt my dad will go back into hiding. Which means I'm your only chance to find him!"

Miles pursed his lips. "Alright," he said, facing Sarah again. "But your team still dies."

"_No! _Please, just—just _put down the gun_, we can work this out!"

"I don't take risks, Chuck." Miles said, his expression cold. "Give me one good reason why I shouldn't kill them both."

Chuck was starting to hyperventilate. Eyes darting between Sarah and Casey, he wracked his brain for something, _anything_.

Miles let out an impatient sigh. "If you're done—"

"_Because,_" Chuck interrupted frantically, "because that's the deal! Either they walk out of here alive, or…or we all die." His eyes hardened. "And you never get your Intersect."

Miles raised an eyebrow and cocked his gun.

Chuck flinched. "_Okay_, okay, that might've come out a bit strong. But the principle still stands!"

They locked gazes, challenging each other, for three agonizing seconds. Finally, a smile crept onto Miles's face. He lowered the gun once more, locking the safety.

"Okay. We'll do it your way." Off Chuck's baffled expression, he barked orders to the other Ring agents. "Dump the agents and Larkin's body outside. One of you, go and prep the chopper." As the lackeys began rounding them up, Miles looked at Chuck, that all-too suspicious smile still plastered across his lips. "You're coming with me."

Reluctantly, Chuck stepped away from Bryce and followed Miles to the door. Something wasn't right. There was no way this could be so easy. His eyes found Sarah's; it looked like she was thinking the exact same thing.

_This won't work,_ she seemed to convey silently, her panic visibly mounting. _He's lying. They'll kill us whether or not you go with them._

Chuck got the message. Stepping across the threshold, he stopped abruptly and turned to Miles. "Wait. At least let me say goodbye to Sarah."

Miles rolled his eyes, but nodded his consent to the others. "Hurry up."

Chuck took a deep breath and stepped toward Sarah, only for the lackeys to block his path, shoving her behind them. Chuck relented, stepping back and instead fixing the blonde agent with a meaningful look. Her eyes were wide and searching.

"Promise me something, Sarah?"

"Anything," she whispered.

Chuck offered her a small, sad smile. He saw her put together the final pieces before he even said the words.

"Save me later."

Everyone saw his hand reach beneath his sleeve, but it was already too late to stop him. The building erupted into chaos as Chuck punched in the final keystrokes on Orion's wrist computer. Sirens blared to life as the lights flicked from white to red; the blast door to the Intersect vault slammed shut, crushing the lone Ring agent standing beneath it and effectively locking Miles and Chuck out of the Intersect vault.

Miles spun to face Chuck, his face contorted in rage. Throwing him up against the wall, he pressed the gun against Chuck's throat with a snarl.

"_Unlock the door!"_

Chuck squeezed his eyes shut, his breathing harsh. "We made a deal! You said they'd get out of here alive. I'm making sure that happens." He let out an audible gulp. "And you…you still need me!"

Miles let out an inhuman growl and shoved him toward the exit, gun still drawn. Throwing back his sleeve, he yelled into his watch, "One man down, two trapped and in combat! Requesting backup to tracked location immediately!" He turned to Chuck, eyes brimming with hatred.

"To the chopper. After I'm finished with you, _Chuck_, you're going to wish you _were_ dead."

* * *

The moment the blast door went down, Sarah went into overdrive. Before the Ring agent in front of her had time to react, she kicked the weapon out of his hands and landed a vicious roundhouse across his jaw. He crashed to the ground, unconscious. She darted out of the way just in time as Casey charged forward, and the other lackey was met with a powerful swipe across the head before he, too, fell to the floor with a loud _crack_.

She didn't wait to see the outcome. Snatching one of the guns from the ground, Sarah sprinted to the door, searching for a button, a key, _anything_ that could unlock it.

Nothing. She slammed against the door in pure desperation. This couldn't be happening. Not now, not after everything he'd been through, not when they were so damn _close._

"Come on, Walker, we have to find another way out of here!" Casey shouted, as he made sure the lackeys were far from conscious.

Sarah fixed him with an incredulous look. "_What? _No! Chuck's still out there, we have to save him!"

"He just saved _our_ asses, Walker! He did this for a reason, he's giving us time to escape! We'll get Bartowski later, they won't kill him—"

"_No!"_ Sarah practically shook with fury. "God_damn it_, Casey, they're going to _torture_ him!"

"We go back there now and we're as good as dead. Then no one saves Bartowski, and we _all_ lose!"

She knew he was right. Still, Sarah could barely contain a frustrated scream. He was supposed to be free from all of this! Damn it, why'd he have to play the hero this time? Slamming her fists on the door one last time, she slid to the ground, angry tears threatening to spill over.

Casey allowed her to take the moment. "There has to be another way out," he muttered, glancing around the room. "Bartowski wouldn't lock us in here without planning an escape…"

"There is."

Both Casey and Sarah whirled around at the faint voice. Bryce let out a weak groan, pressing a hand to his head. Within moments Sarah was there, pulling the wounded agent into her lap.

"Oh my god, Bryce—"

Bryce cut her off. "We have to get out of here. They're bringing in reinforcements, they'll be here any moment." He turned his head to Casey, his breath ragged. "Break off the Intersect base. There's a conduit underneath that leads directly into the lower levels of the complex. From there…from there we can navigate through the tunnels. If we take the right path…it'll get us at least half a mile away from this place."

Sarah stared at him in shock. "How…how do you know that?"

The answer was evident in his eyes. Sarah sucked in a shaky breath. If those agents had known…

Before she could voice her thoughts aloud, Casey called out to her; he tossed her a ring of keys, and she quickly unshackled her handcuffs. She looked down at the gunshot wound in Bryce's side and bit her lip.

"This is bad, Bryce. We have to get you to a hospital."

Bryce shook his head. "Bullet just missed my vitals. I'll survive." He let out a weak chuckle, which only made him cringe in pain. "Blood loss is pretty significant, though. At this rate, I'll probably need a transfusion."

Wordlessly, Sarah shed her jacket and pressed it firmly against the wound. Bryce hissed in pain and squeezed his eyes shut. They stayed like that for a couple of minutes as Casey continued to work at the Intersect base. She was fairly certain he'd fallen unconscious again, so she closed her eyes as well, trying to keep the impending dread from seeping back into her gut.

"We'll get him back, Sarah."

Sarah's eyes flew open. She looked down to see Bryce staring up at her, his expression solemn and searching. She quickly turned her head away; he'd catch all of the emotions flashing across her face if she didn't. When she looked back several moments later, his eyes were closed once again.

"I know," she said finally, when she was sure Bryce was out cold.

She hoped to God that he'd be alive when they did.

A deafening blast sounded directly outside the vault, and Sarah whipped her head around in a panic.

"_Casey!"_

With a final _clang_, the Intersect base toppled over, revealing their emergency exit out of the building. Casey peered in; Sarah imagined that the large, dark hole leading to the depths below wasn't exactly the most inviting sight. At this point, she didn't really care. From the sound of it, the vault door was only a few blasts away from its breaking point.

Casey ran back to his comrades and helped Sarah drag Bryce to the opening. "Drop him through after me," he roared to Sarah, as the walls shook with the aftershock of the explosions, "I'll catch him at the bottom!" With a nod, he disappeared down the shaft.

At Casey's okay, Sarah slowly pushed Bryce towards the hole. He dropped into the darkness; a few moments later, she distinctly heard a loud grunt followed by a muttered "Freakin' deadweight." She gave one last fleeting look at the door before following suit, a silent promise for him and her both.

_Wait for me, Chuck._

_

* * *

_

_And there you have it. :) Prologue is just the tip of the iceberg, folks. It's gonna spiral out of control next chapter. Don't believe me? Here are some snippets to keep you interested (and yes, I stole the preview idea from **Frea**):_

**_..._**

"Not dead yet, are we?" Chuck inwardly cringed at the sound of Miles's voice. A hand yanked his face upwards, and Chuck let out a moan as another wave of pain sliced through his body.

Miles grinned back at him. "Good. You're no use to us dead." He patted Chuck's cheek, which elicited an almost inaudible whimper. "Gotta say, Bartowski, I'm surprised your pain tolerance has even lasted this long. Normal civilians crack after a day, but you? You've lasted five. I guess sticking with the government for a year or two has actually done you some good."

**...**

Chuck waited until his coworker had walked away from his cubicle before turning back to his computer screen.

Orion's encrypted face stared back at him.

"Holy sh—" Chuck sprang back and nearly fell out of his chair. "_Dad?_"

The mechanized voice cut him off. "I can't stay on long. It's already dangerous enough as it is, but this is extremely important. Do _not_ go back home, Charles. The CIA is heading over to apprehend you as we speak."

**...**

_Kill Bryce will be updated on a biweekly basis. Next chapter comes out on the 28th...hope to see you then! :)_


	2. Chapter 1

_Wow, I didn't expect such a positive response for the prologue. So many awesome comments and a buttload of story alerts...thank you so much! You guys rock. __School's started up again, but hopefully I won't be too consumed by my sophomore year to slow down in writing this. I've got about a month's worth of a buffer to work with, though, so we're fine...for now. Also, hope everyone's loving the new season so far. I'm just about to watch the second episode..._

_The usual thanks goes out to **Frea**, who gave me the idea to add in a particular television show reference (cookie to whoever guesses it correctly first), and also helped me make the painstaking transition towards getting into Chuck's head. And of course, to **mxpw**, whose beta work continues to amaze me. He actually went out of his way to check chokeholds, break-ins, and other nuances that give this story so much more depth. A couple of you mentioned in your reviews about the "awesome threesome" and having our "powers combined"...really, that only freaks me out. Kill Bryce living up to the expectations of What Fates Impose and Double Agent? Are you people trying to give me an aneurysm? Hahaa. Seriously, though, thank you. It's because of **Frea** and **mxpw's** input that this fic has turned out to be bigger and better than I could've ever imagined. Hopefully you guys will see the growth I'm talking about. :)_

_

* * *

_

**Kill Bryce**

_by crystalelements_

_

* * *

_

**Chapter 1**

Pain.

He didn't know where it started or where it ended. His entire body felt like it was on fire, a never-ending burn that sent shockwaves of agony through his system whenever he made the tiniest of movements.

It was impossible _not_ to move. His arms were raised above his head, attached to leather straps and chains that hung from the ceiling and chafed deep into his wrists. His feet barely skimmed the ground. His shoulders had long since been dislocated by his own weight.

He felt like dying. More than anything, he just wanted the pain to _end_.

The door opened with a clang, and a moment later familiar footsteps echoed throughout the small, enclosed chamber. Chuck didn't bother looking up; lifting his head was unbearable, and besides, he already knew who the person was. It was the only person who ever entered this prison of his, after all.

"Not dead yet, are we?" Chuck inwardly cringed at the sound of Miles's voice. A hand yanked his face upwards, and Chuck let out a moan as another wave of pain sliced through his body.

Miles grinned back at him. "Good. You're no use to us dead." He patted Chuck's cheek, which elicited an almost inaudible whimper. "Gotta say, Bartowski, I'm surprised your pain tolerance has even lasted this long. Normal civilians crack after a day, but you? You've lasted five. I guess sticking with the government for a year or two has actually done you some good."

Since he'd learned early on that talking about anything that didn't have to do with Orion's location usually meant cracking a rib, Chuck kept his mouth shut. He glared at his kidnapper with nothing short of pure hatred until Miles pulled his hand away and straightened.

"You were right," Miles said, beginning his casual pace around the room. "Thanks to the information you gave us, we were able to get into contact with your father yesterday. Seemed like he wasn't too happy about you turning yourself in."

"I did what I had to do to keep them safe." It'd been a couple of days since he'd spoken; his words sounded more like a croak.

"How noble of you. Won't be worth a damn thing if he refuses to cooperate with us, though."

Chuck blinked hard. Refusing to cooperate? His father had to know what was going on by now. Hadn't Sarah and Casey contacted him? A cold dread began to seep into his gut.

Miles must have noticed the look on his face, because he smiled. "Oh, don't worry about your father. He's already agreed to work on a new Intersect. The problem is, Chuck, he refuses to come out of hiding, and we need to monitor his progress. Can't have another Fulcrum incident, can we?"

The door opened again, and an agent wheeled in a small cart loaded with various needles and other weapons that made Chuck's insides churn. A second agent trailed in behind him, camera in hand.

Chuck looked between the camera and cart in horror. "W-what are you…?"

Miles strode over to the cart and began inspecting what looked like a rusted wrench. "It seems you didn't quite understand the logistics of torture when you decided to be the hero, Chuck." He nodded to the agent, who flipped open the camera screen and began recording.

Chuck broke out into a cold sweat.

"This is a message for Stephen Bartowski," Miles said to the camera, kneeling at Chuck's feet. "You know the procedure, right? Either you come out of hiding, or this wrench does a lot more than break a few of your son's bones."

Chuck screwed his eyes shut, bracing for the inevitable impact.

The wrench slammed down on his ankle with a sickening crack.

* * *

**March 28, 2011 **

**05:17 a.m.**

**Bartowski Dwelling, Culver City**

Chuck bolted upright in bed, chest heaving. Aside from the dull blue glow of his alarm clock, the room was pitch black. He stole a glance at the small, luminescent digits.

5:17.

Chuck groaned and ran both hands down his face, already slick with sweat. Beneath the covers, his ankle tingled just enough to be uncomfortable. He jiggled his foot to push the sensation away.

He really should have seen it coming. True, he'd been doing surprisingly well for the past few months; he rarely woke up in the middle of the night anymore, and he certainly didn't remember most of his dreams come morning. He'd trained his mind long ago to get rid of any lingering images the moment he opened his eyes.

Chuck lowered himself to his pillow again, fingers intertwined over his forehead. He blamed his damn circadian rhythm or whatever the hell it was that kept track of his internal clock. Nearly two years later, and the nightmares still got progressively worse the closer to the date. His ankle prickled again; this time, he kicked his entire leg against the mattress in frustration.

He really wasn't looking forward to therapy again.

Chuck threw off the covers with a sigh. Fine, so he'd start the day a little earlier than usual. His alarm wasn't set to go off for another 12 minutes, but the last thing he wanted to do was lay in bed waiting for his brain to bombard him with memories he'd spent the past 23 months trying to erase. Toggling the alarm switch to the "off" position, he rolled out of bed, made his way to the bathroom, and found his toothbrush and toothpaste without turning on the light. It wasn't as if he needed it—he'd memorized the layout of his new apartment within two weeks of moving in.

Exactly eleven minutes later, a clean-shaven Chuck had changed into sweatpants and a loose-fitted shirt and padded into the kitchen, laptop in hand. He checked both his personal and work accounts while slathering a large helping of peanut butter on a slice of toasted wheat bread. There were surprisingly few e-mails today; other than the usual weekly update from Morgan on the happenings of "Everything Hawaii, Benihana, and Anna Banana," the only other messages in both inboxes were a promotion for a new _Call of Duty_ game coming out next month and a couple of questions from a few of his coworkers regarding the new computer program the company had decided to install the other day. Chuck replied to the business e-mails in less than two minutes, scarfing down the rest of his toast in between typing. He shut his laptop before sliding off the stool and heading for the workout room.

Next up in Monday's morning routine: Qigong. The Chinese practice he'd learned from his coworker Scott had done wonders for him throughout his recovery; it was impossible to start his day without it anymore. In fact, he'd even gone so far as to create his own playlist for each day of the week. He stood on the mat, perfectly balanced, letting the music flow through him as he worked through the motions of the Five Animal Frolics. The music itself added up to exactly 43 minutes and 15 seconds, which gave him just enough time to set up beforehand and drain a glass of water on the way to the shower afterwards.

He was back in the kitchen by 6:30, fully dressed and ready for work. Today's post-exercise breakfast: a bowl of Honey Nut Cheerios and a side of green grapes. He sat at the island with bowl in hand, browsing through various news articles on his laptop. At 6:37, he tipped the last drop of honeyed milk into his mouth and stood up to…

It wasn't 6:37. Chuck backpedalled halfway to the sink and stared quizzically at his laptop, where the tiny numbers in the bottom right-hand corner displayed the time of 6:28. Odd. He'd been keeping a mental track of the time the entire—oh. Chuck inwardly whacked himself upside the head and strode over to the sink to rinse out his bowl. Right. Nightmare, tingling foot, early start to the day. He dropped the dishes onto the rack and dried his hands, gazing around the room a little blankly.

It was borderline pathetic, to be so fixed to a routine that he was actually at a loss of what to do with himself for the next ten minutes. Chuck exhaled through his teeth. It was so much easier when he didn't actually have to stop and think about the fact that his life, once again, had turned into a monotonous dead end.

Of course, the difference this time around was the oh-so wonderful addition of psychiatric therapy to the mix.

Chuck heaved a sigh and sat down at the island again, pulling up his inbox. Since he had a few extra minutes, he could at least start his reply to Morgan's five-page e-mail. What time was it in Hawaii, anyway? Maybe he could give his best friend a call. With the new _CoD_ game coming out soon, no doubt Morgan would be awake during ungodly hours of the morning racking up some time on the entire series. Chuck smiled to himself. Man, he really missed Morgan Time.

He was in the middle of searching for the e-mail in his "Saved" folder when he saw it. Without thinking, Chuck clicked the message.

He immediately regretted it.

The sender's address was some obscure combination of numbers and letters belonging to a web mail service that he wasn't even sure existed. The subject line was blank, and the message itself was a mere four sentences:

_Don't know if I'll ever make it back. Please don't wait for me. Just stay safe, alright?_

_I'm sorry._

Chuck's heart sunk progressively further into his stomach as he reread Sarah's message over and over again. Finally, he forced himself to look at the date.

_June 11, 2010._

Chuck leaned heavily over the counter, fingers digging into his hair. Of all the things he had gone through over the years—all of the crazy missions, the torture, the endless therapy sessions—Sarah's disappearance nine months ago was the hardest to cope with. He'd stashed this e-mail away for that very reason. All it took was a glance at the message to send his thoughts spiraling into one hell of a migraine.

He should've known better, but as always, Fate really had a way of coming back to bite him in the ass.

It had been difficult enough when she'd left with Bryce to track down undercover Ring members. In actuality, she'd wanted to quit the moment she saw him for the first time after the rescue. But Ellie had been unforgiving at the time, even to Sarah—the moment she had found out about Operation Bartowski, his sister had not only chewed out Beckman personally, but she'd immediately demanded that the CIA, NSA, and anyone else involved with the government get the hell out of her family's lives. Their father had already gone off-grid after the rescue mission, and hell would freeze over before she lost Chuck to the government or any of their corrupted inner-organizations again. On top of that, Bryce had been having a difficult time with the Intersect from day one. He needed a partner who understood both the Intersect and him. Of course, Sarah had been perfect for the job.

Chuck's face darkened as he stared at his laptop. Never mind the fact that he'd been tortured. Never mind the fact that Sarah's support probably would have been the best medicine for his recovery. Oh, no. Because he was the goddamned _better man _who put others before himself_,_ he had insisted that the best thing at the time was for Sarah to take the assignment.

Naturally, she'd fought every step of the way. He'd been stubborn and refused.

She told him it would be her final mission. He assured her that he'd wait for her. She promised that she'd keep in touch as much as possible.

And then, one year later, she sent one final e-mail and disappeared off the face of the planet.

Two loud beeps startled Chuck out of his memories. He glanced down and swore aloud when he saw the digits 6:45 flashing across the face of his watch. Crap, how did _that _happen? He should've been driving to work by now! Shoving his laptop into his bag, Chuck snatched his keys from the counter and sprinted out the door.

So much for Morgan Time.

* * *

**March 28, 2011**

**4:45 p.m. **

**Veridian Dynamics, L.A. Branch – IT department**

After two full hours of sitting crouched in front of his computer, Chuck finally pushed back from his desk and stretched. He groaned as his back gave several audible cracks. It was official: he was going to be stooped over a cane by the time he was 65.

"Staying late again, huh?"

Chuck spun around in his seat and offered his coworker Vince an indifferent shrug. "Just a couple more minutes. The company's been having problems with a bug in the new software. It's been screwing with the system all day, messing up memos and the like."

"Chuck, the entire _company_ is messed up. Their motto is 'Money Before People,' for God's sake. They don't even pay us for overtime."

"I know. It's no big deal, I've almost got it."

Vince snorted. "Suit yourself."

Chuck waited until his coworker had walked away from his cubicle before turning back to his computer screen.

Orion's encrypted face stared back at him.

"Holy sh—" Chuck sprang back and nearly fell out of his chair. "_Dad?_"

The mechanized voice cut him off. "I can't stay on long. It's already dangerous enough as it is, but this is extremely important. Do _not_ go back home, Charles. The CIA is heading over to apprehend you as we speak."

"_What?"_ Chuck leapt to his feet and grabbed the sides of his monitor. "What do you mean, apprehend me? I haven't done—it's been _two years!_ Why are they coming for me _now?_"

"I don't _know_, Charles. I intercepted the information earlier today, and the orders stated to bring in one Charles Bartowski at all costs. Listen to me, son, you need to get out of the area immediately. Get the emergency pack and leave L.A., lay low somewhere while I try to figure out what's going on."

"You want me to _leave?_ But you don't even know what they want with me!"

"No, I don't, and that's precisely why you need to go," Orion said. "Run first and ask questions later, Charles. We've dealt with these people before. You know you can't afford to take the risk."

"Dad, this is the _CIA_ we're talking about. They're probably tracking my phone or something, there's no way I can outrun them!"

"I've already disabled your phone and the GPS in your car. I planted a false signal, so they think you're already at home. They don't know about the bug I put into Veridian's system."

Chuck gaped at the screen. "The—that was _you?_"

"Yes, so you'd stay back to work on it." Orion's voice became increasingly urgent. "Charles, _please,_ you need to hurry. They could be arriving at the apartment at any moment now. Just get out of there, and I promise I'll figure this out as soon as possible."

Chuck snatched his bag from underneath his desk. "How are you supposed to reach me?"

"The phone in your emergency pack's encrypted, it should be untraceable."

"Okay, that's really great and all, Dad," Chuck said, "but where the hell am I supposed to _go?_"

"Wherever you think they won't look." And with that, the monitor went black.

Chuck stood motionless for a good five seconds attempting to process his father's words.

What. The. _Hell._

Apparently his feet had decided to take on a mind of their own, because the next thing Chuck knew, he was just short of running through the parking lot without having any memory of getting there.

None of what his father told him made any sense. What reason did the government have to track him down two years after he'd ended his affiliation with them? The last he'd ever heard from any agency higher-up was the day Beckman had consented to his release from the hospital, three weeks after Sarah and Casey had left for their new assignments.

The government had no reason to kill him, either. The Intersect was out of his head, and according to his father's updates, the majority of The Ring had been discovered and disbanded in the past year anyway. No one cared if Chuck Bartowski, ex-Intersect and the son of Orion, was still living out his days as a civilian in southern California.

No one until now, it seemed.

Chuck pulled his car out of the parking lot and headed north, eyes scanning the streets for black SUVs or vans.

There had to be something else going on.

_Run first and ask questions later, Charles._

But that was the problem, Chuck thought, hands tightening around the steering wheel. What was he running from? What if there was some real danger going on in the spy world that the government was trying to protect him from? What if something had gone wrong with the Intersect Project?

_I'm sorry, son. She's gone rogue._

Chuck nearly hit the brakes in the middle of the highway, the words his father had said to him all those months ago repeating over and over again in his head.

_She's gone rogue._

Of course. This was about Sarah. It had to be.

_Rogue._

He hadn't believed it at the time, of course. He still didn't. She was Sarah Freakin' Walker, for God's sake, and the last thing she'd ever do was betray her country. Besides, something about it didn't add up. Sarah Walker would never turn rogue, and the CIA definitely wouldn't burn one of the Agency's finest without any plausible explanation or records. There _were_ no records. He knew this for a fact; he'd had his father check numerous times. When Sarah disappeared, she'd taken everything with her.

Chuck pulled into an old service station that looked like it had been infested with termites for the better half of the last decade. Someone had apparently thought it would be funny to graffiti over enough of the sign so that "Speedy Fuel" now read "SeedFul". He parked in the back and dashed into the bathroom.

Maybe that was what the government was after. No one knew where Sarah was; for all he knew, they could be trying to bring him in to use him as bait to lure her out of hiding.

Or maybe they did know where she was. Maybe they'd already found her, and they needed to bring him in for questioning, get him to talk to her and figure out why the hell she'd gone off-grid in the first place.

The government had to have the answers he was looking for. And here he was, going in the completely opposite direction.

_You know you can't afford to take the risk._

Chuck sighed in frustration. Of course his father was right. But with Orion, everything was always a risk. He'd lived the past two years of his life without taking chances, without ever venturing out of the same old routine he had set up for himself. He was alone, he was miserable, and he was going absolutely nowhere.

Chuck hefted himself up onto the sink and ran his hand across the grime-covered ceiling. No time for grossing out now, although he did cringe when his fingers slid across something particularly slimy. Finally, his hand hit a panel on the far right that lifted under his touch. Chuck quickly pushed upwards and slid the panel to the side before reaching blindly through the hole.

The emergency pack was right where his father had put it. With a grunt, Chuck dragged the duffelbag through the hole and dropped it onto the ground.

He hadn't heard from Sarah in a year, hadn't seen her in two. And if walking out of this gas station and driving back to his house where one or two agents were waiting meant he'd get a chance to finally see her again, then it was completely worth the risk.

As gracefully as a person could when it came to a dingy old bathroom sink, Chuck jumped down and slung the emergency pack over his shoulder. He wouldn't need it now, but at least he could take the phone in case his father needed to contact him. Either way, Orion was not going to be thrilled.

Chuck managed to open the door halfway before he saw them. On the street, directly across from the front of the gas station, a group of familiar black, heavily tinted SUVs flew by.

Chuck stood partially behind the bathroom door and stared. Six or seven of them, at least. He wasn't sure; his mind was too busy going into paranoiac shock to count. He stepped back into the bathroom and shut the door, trying not to freak out.

Okay, maybe not so much worth the risk after all.

* * *

**March 28, 2011**

**11:37 p.m. **

**Barstow, CA**

Stephen Bartowski hadn't called.

Chuck groaned and rested his forehead against the steering wheel. Six hours later, and he was still waiting for the little phone sitting in the cup holder next to him to play some obnoxious ringtone. He understood that hacking into government databases was tedious work, but seriously, _six hours?_

He had no idea where to go from here. After-work traffic had been enough of a bitch as it was, but then he had to go and stop at an In-N-Out for a quick bite to eat. The next thing he knew, he was standing outside in the parking lot staring at the flat tire attached to his car.

The glow of the green light forced Chuck to lift his head and press the gas pedal. Not that it mattered, since he was the only car at the intersection. Barstow wasn't exactly the most upbeat place around midnight on a Monday, especially near the outskirts.

The prospect of another several hours of nonstop driving wasn't looking too appealing at the moment. He didn't even know how far he should be going, or even if the emergency phone had coverage in the middle of the desert.

His surroundings were starting to look familiar.

Several minutes later, Chuck slowed down to stare at the moonlit remains of Starbright Drive-In. The playground and building had long been bulldozed since the night of Fulcrum's demise, but the huge red and yellow sign still looked as tall and worn down as ever.

The motel was just a few minutes away from here.

Okay, so maybe it wasn't such a good idea. Who knew how thorough the CIA would be in their search for him? Would they really search the place that he and Sarah had checked into over two years ago during their own off-grid escapade?

Somehow, Chuck really doubted it. Besides, it was late, he was exhausted, and frankly, he needed something familiar. He wasn't exactly in any position to be picky about it. The disgusting, seedy motel would have to do.

Five minutes later, Chuck sat in his car and stared at the darkened windows of Providence Inn.

The place looked a little shabbier than he remembered. More deserted, too. None of the lights were on in any of the rooms; for all he knew, Providence Inn could've gone out of business the day after Casey had shoved his SIG Sauer up his nose. He figured that unconscious and dead Fulcrum agents scattered around the motel grounds didn't exactly promote good business.

Chuck sighed and began hitting his head against the steering wheel. It didn't even matter whether or not Providence Inn looked like a desolate wasteland. He was out of cash, and using a credit card to stay overnight would basically mean plastering a target for the CIA right on his forehead. It was completely out of the question.

Unless…

* * *

**March 28, 2011**

**11:55 p.m. **

**Outside of the "Chuck & Sarah" room, Providence Inn**

This was a very, very, _very_ bad idea.

And perhaps it was a bit pitiful that Chuck's main reasoning for said bad idea was that it was _their_ room. He was on the run from the government, for Pete's sake, and finding comfort in a room that he had shared with Sarah on another night of fear and confusion was the best explanation he could offer himself.

He stifled another curse as his old BuyMore ID slipped downwards in the crack of the door. Apparently the old open-a-locked-door-with-a-credit-card technique he always saw in movies wasn't as simple as they made it look. Or the wikiHow page he'd pulled up on his iPhone had described, for that matter. Chuck reshuffled his weight and crouched lower.

Besides, it wasn't as though he was going to crash the place and leave it a mess after he left. All he needed was a bed for the night and a nice shower. He'd get a few hours of sleep, tidy the room up as good as new, and leave before the crack of dawn. No one would even know he was there.

The fact that he couldn't even open the freaking door wasn't doing him any favors.

The whole prospect of breaking in was dropping bombs of guilt on his conscience, but Chuck was already a fugitive at this point. He'd figure out how to pay Providence Inn back later, maybe get his father to discreetly drop some money into their account.

He must have done something right, because a moment later he felt the pressure of card against lock. Chuck quickly leaned against the door and bent his ID towards the doorframe; the handle finally unlocked, and he stumbled into the dark room, wide-eyed. Holy crap, he'd actually _done_ it—

In less than a second, Chuck was flying backwards, his chest exploding in pain. His arms flailed out, desperately searching for something to grab onto; his fingers wrapped around what felt like the leg of a chair, but it did nothing to soften his landing. He crashed to the ground back first, and the chair—it had to be a chair, judging from the weight—toppled sideways and fell across his stomach.

Chuck gasped for breath. His entire chest throbbed, his ears rang. He could see nothing but blurry, dark silhouettes. The room started to spin.

And then, without so much as a sound, one of the silhouettes moved.

Oh, God, Chuck thought, I broke into the motel room of a ninja.

That was when the panic hit. Chuck scrambled backwards, throwing the chair to the side. The silhouette darted forward.

Chuck jumped up and barely dodged the open palm aimed at his nose. The air from the attack whistled right past his ear. He lunged towards the bed and blindly grabbed one of the pillows, only for it to go flying out of his hands by a powerful roundhouse kick.

Chuck staggered backwards and threw up his arms in front of his face. A flurry of wild, blind attacks rained down around him; he held off as much as he could in the darkness of the room, each new blow that managed to land setting his skin and muscles on fire.

He wasn't going to last if this kept up much longer. His defense was crumbling, his attacker showed no signs of backing down any time soon, he was barely holding his own at this point, and _God_, he hadn't felt this kind of pain in years.

His back hit the wall, and instinctively, Chuck ducked; the fist aimed at his face opened up at the last second and smashed into the wall above him.

It was the second he needed. Clenching his teeth, Chuck bent forward and slammed his shoulder into his opponent's stomach, pushing off the wall with brute force. His attacker let out a low, choked grunt and flew backwards, hitting what sounded like the front of the mattress.

Chuck stumbled backwards from the impact. He whipped his head around, searching for the doorknob; he needed to get the hell out of here before he got himself killed. The dim glint of copper had him surging forward, fingers outstretched.

Something small and blunt hit the back of his legs. Chuck lurched forward with a yelp and landed painfully on his palms and shins. An arm snaked around his neck and jerked; Chuck's hands flew to his throat, clawing as he gasped for breath. He felt a pair of legs clamp tightly around his middle.

The already-dark room started to fade into blackness. His head felt lighter and lighter, and Chuck squeezed his eyes shut, sensing impending unconsciousness or worse. With a final burst of energy he didn't know he had, Chuck propelled himself up and backwards, ramming them both into the foot of the bed before tumbling onto the mattress. His attacker let out a gasp of surprise.

Chuck froze.

A moment later, he found himself flipped on his stomach, one arm pinned painfully behind his back.

But now his senses had gone into overdrive. He could hear every harsh breath, feel every point of contact. With the last ounce of strength he had, Chuck wrenched his free arm toward the nightstand and flicked on the light.

There was another gasp, and the pressure on his pinned arm disappeared. Chest heaving, he rolled over onto his back.

Sarah Walker stared back at him in shock.

* * *

_-le gasp- Sarah's back! Then again, maybe you saw that coming, right? __More snippets of what's to come:_

**_..._**

Sarah broke off mid-sentence and froze, face completely draining of color. Then she did something that Chuck never thought he'd see in his lifetime: she began freaking out.

There was no other way to describe it. One moment she was gaping at him, on the verge of hyperventilating, and the next moment she was dashing around the room like a criminal trying to hide her secret stash from the cops.

It was quite possibly the scariest thing he'd ever witnessed in his life.

**...**

"I've gone through my fair share of hell in the past two years, Sarah," he said, quiet but firm, "and I'm sure you have, too. But the difference here is that I spent mine in complete darkness. Before we start talking about anything else, the least you could give me right now are some answers."

**...**

___I've also been posting quotes/snippets every so often __in between chapters on my Twitter. If you'd like to stayed posted on these little spoilers, look me up! My Twitter handle is crystalelements. If not...see you on October 12th!_  



	3. Chapter 2

_I just finished watching Coup d'Etat. It was Awesome. (Literally. With a 9-foot marble replica and everything.) And now it's time to post a new chapter, so yay all around! Lots of questions answered in this one, and of course many more raised. Also, just a warning, it gets pretty dark from here on out (as if it weren't already). Now, if you'll excuse me, I have to go make some avatars from tonight's episode. **mxpw** gets cranky if he doesn't get his weekly icon dosage of Sarah Walker. :)_

_Many thanks to **Frea** and **mxpw**, who both pointed out that the first version of this chapter totally sucked (my words, not theirs). It was a pain to revise and edit, but this final version is much, much better._

_

* * *

_

**March 28, 2011**

**11:58 p.m. **

**The "Chuck & Sarah" room, Providence Inn**

For a long moment, Chuck forgot how to speak. Sarah seemed to be having the same problem; she simply stared at him, eyes wide, mouth half open and moving soundlessly. The next thing he knew, she had jumped off the mattress and was backing away from him, a hand buried in her hair.

"Chuck? How—what the _hell _are you doing here?"

Whoa. Of all the things he'd been expecting Sarah to say after seeing him for the first time in nearly two years, that was _not_ one of them. Chuck pushed himself into a sitting position, wincing when his chest gave a particularly painful throb.

"What am I doing here? What are _you_ doing here? You just attacked—I don't even—Sarah, what the hell is going on?"

"You shouldn't be here, Chuck. You can't be here, you're not—" Sarah broke off mid-sentence and froze, face completely draining of color. Then she did something that Chuck never thought he'd see in his lifetime: she began freaking out.

There was no other word to describe it. One moment she was gaping at him, on the verge of hyperventilating, and the next moment she was dashing around the room like a criminal trying to hide her secret stash from the cops.

It was quite possibly the scariest thing he'd ever witnessed in his life.

"Sarah," Chuck repeated, voice raising an octave, "what the hell is going on?"

Sarah ignored him. She whipped her head around as if searching for something, then ran back to the bed, crouching down and lifting the covers to scan underneath.

"Sarah!"

"You need to get out of here," she said, turning her attention to the nightstand. She reached behind it and swiped her hand across the surface. "This is the last place you should be, Chuck. Anywhere but here."

"First my dad, now you?" He fought back the urge to hit something. "Damn it, Sarah, where the hell am I supposed to _go?_ I'm already on the run, and—what is that?"

Chuck's insides went cold as he took in the tiny device stuck to the bottom of the drawer Sarah had just wrenched out of the nightstand. Sarah sucked in a shuddering breath and carefully placed the drawer onto the ground.

"Get out of the room, Chuck." Her voice sounded strangled.

"Is that…" Chuck slid to the edge of the mattress. "Is that a _bomb?_"

"_Get out of the room!"_

She didn't wait for him to move. Wrapping her fingers around his wrist, Sarah yanked him forward; Chuck barely landed on his feet before she all but dragged him toward the door. Behind him, the device began beeping.

They made it about twenty feet past the front porch when the room exploded.

Sarah tackled him to the ground a split second before the heat from the blast hit them full force. Instinctively, Chuck tucked his face into his shoulder and clamped his arms over his head. His skin felt like it was blistering. Pieces of debris pelted his body like sharp rocks.

The pressure wave hit next. He felt as though he were being pounded into the ground; the gravel dug into his cheek, and his ears popped and began a constant, painful ringing. Sarah's arm suddenly tightened across his back; he felt her cringe against his shoulder.

Finally, the wave of heat faded as the last of the flying debris scattered around them. Chuck raised his head, coughing away the dust. Sarah had already bolted up, a hand clutching her shoulder. A thin trail of blood seeped out beneath her fingertips.

"Oh my God, you got hit—"

"It's fine," she interrupted through gritted teeth, "Right now, we just need to focus on getting out of here. You have your keys?"

"Yeah," he said, stumbling to his feet. At this point, his brain was the only part of his body that had gone numb. Every other limb was either throbbing or burning—nothing compared to his days of torture, of course, but still enough to seriously suck. Chuck willed himself not to think about the pain and dug the car keys out of his pocket.

The sound of breaking glass made him spin around on the spot. Not a good idea, since the movement nearly sent him crashing to the ground again. Cursing under his breath, Chuck looked up and promptly pressed a fist to his mouth in horror.

Sarah stood several feet away, balanced perfectly on one leg as she hacked away at the shattered remains of his car window with her boot.

"What are you—couldn't you have just waited for me to unlock the freaking door?"

Sarah at least had the courtesy to glance back in his general direction. "The explosion already blew out the windows," she replied shortly, reaching inside for the lock. She pulled open the door and began sweeping out shards of glass. "Get in the car, Chuck, _please._"

The numbness in his brain slowly gave way to anger. She had always been an expert at evading. He'd had enough of being left out of the loop, for God's sake, and the fact that he'd nearly been blown to pieces in the one place he thought he'd be safe did _not _help matters. Chuck all but stormed to the passenger side of the car and yanked the door open, intent on giving Sarah a piece of his mind.

All it took was seeing the dead set of her jaw and her whitened knuckles tightening around the wheel to make the words die right on his lips. Chuck's mouth instantly snapped shut. He handed Sarah the key, which she shoved a little too forcefully into the ignition before throwing the car into reverse. Chuck grabbed the roof handle and held on for dear life.

He'd forgotten how scary Agent Walker was in full mission mode.

* * *

**March 28, 2011**

**12:46 a.m.**

**Heading East on I-40**

Sarah had parked her own car in a deserted lot a little less than a mile away. It was there that they ditched Chuck's car, scratched and shattered from the explosion. Sarah had made sure to destroy all the evidence proving it was his, including throwing the license plate into a dumpster some miles away. Where they were driving now, Chuck had no idea. Judging by the distant, apprehensive look in Sarah's eyes, she seemed just as uncertain.

They hadn't spoken a word to each other since the explosion. The silence was unbearable, but Chuck had been smart enough to know that Sarah was dangerously close to her breaking point. The tension in her shoulders, like her grip on the wheel, showed no signs of relaxing anytime soon, and she hadn't looked in his direction once in the last forty-five minutes.

Patience was key here, and it was killing him.

Chuck focused on clearing his mind to pass the time. Closing his eyes, he straightened in his seat and honed in on his breathing. Inhale for four seconds, hold for two, exhale for eight, hold for three. It was a little more difficult to concentrate when a stab of pain shot through his chest every time he inhaled. He tried not to think about the fact that it had been Sarah who caused the injury, however unknowingly.

"I'm sorry."

Her voice was barely above a whisper, but the sheer weight behind those two simple words was enough to make him snap. The breath he'd been holding came flying out in a rush, and Chuck turned in his seat to gape at her in sheer disbelief. The human version of an Intersect flash smashed into him head-on. Within five agonizing seconds, the millions of questions he'd been forcing into a small compartment in the back of his brain had burst open and completely flooded his system.

"You're _sorry?_" he blurted, the cold, bitter words tumbling out of his mouth before he could stop them. "For what, exactly? For trying to crack open my chest, which, by the way, still hurts like hell? Or because I happened to walk into a room you were occupying that was rigged to explode?" His fingers dug into the armrest between them. "Or maybe for pulling a damn Houdini nearly a year ago and making me question whether or not you were a rogue agent, much less alive? Enlighten me, Sarah, because it seems to me like there sure as hell are a lot of things you could be sorry for!"

Sarah looked as though she'd been slapped in the face. Once upon a time, Chuck would have apologized profusely and done everything in his power to wipe that expression off her face forever. That was before he'd been dragged through the closest thing to hell and back again. Right now, his chest felt like it was well on its way to being permanently bruised. He was on the run from one of the most powerful agencies in the nation. He was scared out of his mind. And still, he knew absolutely nothing.

If there was ever a time to be justifiably pissed, it was now.

The stunned look on Sarah face, however, was quickly replaced with an icy glare. "You're right," she said, a slight tremor to her voice, "there are a lot of things that have happened over the past few years that I'm sorry for. But what did you expect, Chuck? You think I did any of those things on purpose? You think I _wanted_ to disappear? I didn't have a choice!"

"You could have contacted me somehow, left some sort of message to let me know what was going on."

"Don't you think I would've done that if I had the chance? I went _off-grid_, Chuck. The moment I disappeared, the Agency set their sights on the closest connections they knew I had!" She jerked her head in his direction, eyes still glued to the road. "One message to you and they would have either taken you in or tracked me down and killed me on the spot. Maybe both. Then where would we be?"

Chuck threw his hands up in exasperation. "Probably not here, smack dab in the middle of nowhere! Sarah, you have no idea what the past year has been like for me, okay? How do you think I felt when I got that last e-mail from you? When my dad contacted me three days later to tell me that you'd been declared rogue? When they sent me through their so-called 'relapse therapy?'"

Just the thought of the government's thinly veiled brainwashing sessions made the corners of his vision burn red. They'd turned his life into psychological torture. The first week had been straight interrogation; wanting to know if Sarah was keeping in contact with him, if he had somehow helped her with her little "disappearing act." When that had proved moot, they'd switched tactics and began feeding him things: she wasn't coming back. She'd betrayed her country. More importantly, she'd betrayed him. If anything, she was probably already dead. There was no point holding on to a lost cause.

Those weeks had been by far the worst, where nightmares plagued him nightly and the bitterness and frustration of not knowing what to believe took over the better half of his mind. Those were the times where even his blind faith in her had slipped, if only for a few moments.

Sarah looked halfway between spitting out a particularly biting retort and a frustrated apology. She chose neither, clenching her teeth together instead, her eyes stormy. Chuck surfaced from his bitter memories to pin her with a hard gaze.

"I've gone through my fair share of hell in the past two years, Sarah," he said, quiet but firm, "and I'm sure you have, too. But the difference here is that I spent mine in complete darkness. Before we start talking about anything else, the least you could give me right now are some answers."

Sarah sat silent for a long time. Chuck waited; he could practically hear the war raging inside of her head. Judging by the way her eyes flickered with resolve, it was only a matter of time before her walls came crashing down, one piece at a time. Finally, after what felt like hours, Sarah took a deep breath and began speaking.

"It was sometime last year, right around this time. We were doing so well with tracking down Ring cells, and the Intersect…" She hesitated. "It was…very different from the version you had in your head. He still flashed on information, but he could flash on certain…abilities, too. Whenever we were stuck in a tight situation, the Intersect knew exactly what skills to give him to get out of it, almost as if it had a mind of its own."

A chill that had nothing to do with the cold sunk deep into Chuck's gut. A computer with a mind of its own? He'd seen his share of sci-fi movies with a similar premise, and the events that unfolded never ended in rainbows and unicorns. Chuck shifted uncomfortably in his seat.

"What kind of abilities are we talking about here? I mean, aren't you guys already superspies? What could the Intersect possibly give Bryce on top of that?"

"Precision," Sarah said, her expression darkening. "The ability to shoot and kill without fail. With this new version of the Intersect, emotions control the outcome of its success. The government took your father's designs and altered them knowing that Bryce was an expert at keeping his emotions in check. In essence, the Intersect turned Bryce into the ultimate human weapon."

Chuck slumped in his seat. Forget similarities, this was _exactly_ like a sci-fi movie. Which could only mean…He almost didn't want to hear the answer when he asked, "Sarah, what happened to Bryce?"

She seemed to be dreading the question, too, because it took her a long time to respond. When she finally did, her eyes were staring far off into the distance, her voice a little shaky.

"Every time he flashed on an ability, he seemed to lose a piece of himself in the process. It wasn't even noticeable at first. The more he flashed, though, the longer it took for him to…well, go back to being himself."

"What do you mean?"

Sarah's expression became somewhat haunted; if it were even possible, her knuckles went even whiter around the wheel. "In order to flash on an ability, Bryce had to push away his emotions, no matter what kind of situation we were in. And he could do that. But after he flashed, it was like he lost them entirely, like he couldn't feel anything at all. Almost like…"

"Like the Intersect was starting to take over," Chuck finished in a horrified whisper. Sarah nodded.

"Bryce wanted it out of his head, but the government insisted that he keep it in a while longer, that this entire operation had cost them millions to fund, and that if he took it out now, The Ring would only rebound as a bigger threat."

"That's ridiculous," Chuck hissed, furious. "They're always going to have 'the next biggest threat!' Hell, a supercomputer taking over someone's mind is even worse! How could they take a risk like that?"

"We think that they knew all of it going in," Sarah said, "and that they were willing to take the chance anyway. Bryce had shown the most promise with utilizing the Intersect, and they were right: our success rates went off the charts. Most likely, they planned on having him eliminated as soon as he went over the edge."

Chuck's hatred for the government cut even deeper. "Is that what they would've done to me, too, if my dad hadn't gotten the Intersect out? Burn me after everything we did to keep the country safe? What kind of—" He broke off, the realization hitting him like a ton of bricks. "My dad! Sarah, why didn't you guys contact him, he could've gotten it out!"

Sarah was already shaking her head. "We tried. We couldn't find him. After I was able to track him down the first time, your dad made sure to cover his tracks permanently. No one knows where he is."

"You're looking at someone who does!" Chuck thrust his hand into the emergency pack at his feet and pulled out the phone. "Or at least someone who can contact him. Why didn't you guys come to me? I could've helped!"

"And risk putting you in danger all over again? Absolutely not, Chuck."

"Yeah, and where do you think I am now?"

"But that's just it," Sarah said, exasperated. "You shouldn't be here, and you definitely shouldn't have been at that motel. So why were you?"

Chuck let out a sigh and dragged his hand through his hair. The day was really starting to take its toll, and there were still a thousand questions in his head screaming to be answered. Still, Sarah had that look in her eyes again, and it looked like she wasn't going to tell him anything more until he filled her in on his side of the story.

He took a moment to think back on the past several hours before recounting everything to her: how his father had contacted him after work and warned him about the agents heading over to his apartment, and how he left despite not knowing what their reasons were. He left out the reason why he'd chosen that particular motel room, though. He figured that it'd sound a little pathetic, choosing the room just because it was a memory they'd shared, though a small part of him wondered if she'd had the same idea. It was an eerie coincidence, after all. What were the odds that they'd end up in the same place at the same time, and one that had been conveniently rigged to explode while they were in it, no less? He asked this last question aloud.

Sarah looked troubled. "I honestly don't know. I know it seems that way, but how could they have known you'd run off and end up at the motel? Though if you hadn't shown up when you did…"

She didn't finish the sentence, which was good, because it was the last thing Chuck wanted to hear right now. Shoving the images out of his head, he plowed on ahead.

"Okay, so maybe the bomb was for you. But how did the government know you'd be there?"

"Maybe they didn't," Sarah said, "but Bryce probably did."

Chuck turned fully in his seat to gape at her. "_Bryce?"_

Sarah gave a small smile, though there was nothing humorous about it. "You haven't heard the rest of the story."

"Bryce has been trying to kill you? But…but I thought…"

"Not Bryce," she said quietly. "The Bryce you know disappeared months ago."

Horror bubbled in his gut like acid, and Chuck sank further into his seat, head in his hands. This couldn't be happening. Bryce Larkin? Lost to the Intersect? Through his shocked haze, he was vaguely aware that Sarah had begun talking again.

"He went insane. That's really the only way to explain it. He flashed one day and he just…never came back. Ripped my own gun out of my hands and shot everyone in the room, Ring members and CIA agents alike. He kept going on about how it was all of the government's fault that it had come to this, how corrupted they had become, how it was time to change things—" she broke off and bit her lip, blinking hard. "He asked me if I'd join him. I think there was still a small part of him left, the part that still cared about me. And when I refused, he took it as a betrayal. He told me that I'd better start running and hope that he didn't catch up, because either way, he was going to make my life hell."

"What is this," Chuck breathed, "some kind of sick _game_ for him?"

"That's exactly what it is." Her tone was full of resentment. "As soon as I escaped, Bryce went back to the Agency and somehow convinced them that it had been me who broke away and killed those CIA agents. Once he got the government on his side and the clearance to track me down, he began the world's most dangerous game of cat and mouse."

Chuck raised his head and stared out the windshield, too stunned, too horrified to speak. He'd gone through a fair share of torment these past two years, but this? He couldn't even begin to imagine the nightmare Sarah had experienced. When he finally found his voice again, it came out more as a croaky whisper.

"He's been chasing you this entire time? Tracking you down and setting up death traps and just…just _waiting_ for you to make a wrong move? Why didn't you leave the country, go someplace he could never find you?"

"I wish it were that simple," Sarah said, her voice hollow, "but we both know that things never come easy with Bryce. When the Intersect took over, he lost every shred of conscience he ever had. If I went off his radar for more than a few days, he'd just turn around and start killing off people affiliated with the Intersect Project instead, one at a time, until I showed up again. He knew exactly how to toy with me, knew that the last thing I ever wanted was for him to go anywhere near—"

She abruptly broke off and shook her head. Without warning, she jerked the wheel to the right and pulled off the highway; startled, Chuck seized the door armrest as the car rolled to a stop on the uneven terrain. Sarah pressed the gear into Park and turned off the car before falling back against the seat, arms limp at her sides.

"What are you—?"

"Just," Sarah tilted her head back and closed her eyes, voice dangerously unsteady. "Just give me a second, okay?"

Chuck fell silent. His mind, on the other hand, was as loud as ever, echoing the words she had spoken and adding in the rest of her unfinished sentence:

_The last thing I ever wanted was for him to go anywhere near you._

A wave of disbelief surged through him. Even after all this time, Sarah was still sacrificing everything—her job, her safety, her entire _life_—to make sure he was protected. Running for months on end, never safe, never sure, constantly living in fear…how could anyone live that way? How could she put herself through this? Sucking in a deep breath, Chuck reached over and placed his hand over hers.

"Look, Sarah…"

Sarah's eyes flew open. She visibly recoiled at his touch, though her hand hadn't moved an inch. He squeezed reassuringly, hoping to mollify her.

The reaction was instantaneous. It was as if all of the tension in her body had popped like a balloon; she melted into the seat, head falling back against the headrest and eyes screwing shut. Her breath hitched once before she bit her lip. Hard. Beneath his fingers, her hand tightened into a fist and began trembling.

Despite all her actions to keep them from appearing, the tears spilling over her cheeks were unmistakable.

Chuck withdrew his hand like he'd been scalded. Oh, crap, what had he done? He knew that Sarah was already at the end of her rope, but he was _not_ prepared for this. Desperately, he wracked his brain for something to say. _I didn't mean to touch you, Sarah, I didn't know it'd make you cry?_ He nearly slapped himself. What kind of apology was that? She'd probably punch him. Or cry harder. He was pretty sure the latter would be much, much worse.

The soft, almost inaudible sob that escaped her lips nearly sent him over the edge. Chuck dug his fingers into his jeans and opened his mouth to apologize, or at least say something to stop the tears. Oh, God, she was crying, he had made her cry, she never cried in front of him, he had to say something, _anything_.

Unfortunately, his voice chose that moment to betray him. Mute, utterly helpless and hating himself for it, Chuck sat and waited while Sarah let her crying run its course.

If he thought he'd felt horrible before, it was nothing compared to the way he felt now. It was never a matter of whether or not Sarah could handle the nightmares Bryce had created for her—she didn't even have a _choice._ It was either run or risk having the people she cared about killed off instead. How many times had she encountered Bryce over the past year? How many times had she barely escaped alive? She'd thrown away everything to keep him safe, and for what? He'd shown up anyway, accident or not, and now they were quite literally in the middle of nowhere, fleeing from death, two pawns in Bryce's sick little game of insanity chess.

All of her suffering, for nothing. What was he supposed to say to that?

Not much, it turned out. With one last sniff, Sarah swiped away the last trace of moisture from her eyes and let out a shuddering breath. "Sorry," she said, leaning forward to start the car. "It's been a really long day. But we need to keep moving. We can't risk being anywhere near Barstow when they investigate the explosion."

Chuck continued to stare at her, even as she visibly made the effort to ignore his gaze. What was she apologizing for? Surely she didn't still believe the whole "spies should never show weakness" thing, not after everything she'd experienced these past few years. Yet here she was, trying to act as though the last ten minutes hadn't happened, as if this entire nightmare wasn't as terrifying and traumatic as it seemed.

But it was. And that was the problem.

"Why are you apologizing?" Chuck burst out when his voice finally started working again. "God, Sarah, after everything you've been through, that's the last thing you should be doing. I'm the one who should be apologizing, I didn't mean to—"

"Chuck," she interrupted, voice laced with desperation. "_Please_, not now, alright? I can't…I can't handle this right now. We need to focus on getting out of here first."

Chuck opened his mouth to argue, then thought better of it when Sarah shot him an exasperated look. With a defeated sigh, he leaned back into the seat and folded his arms across his chest. Still so many questions, still so much to say. With nothing but deafening silence between them now, Chuck turned his thoughts back to Bryce.

It didn't make any sense. Bryce could have easily taken him and used him as bait months ago if he really wanted Sarah dead. And what about the government? Sarah had said that Bryce believed their higher-ups to be corrupted, that things needed to change, and yet the first thing he did was take their side and turn them against her. The only thing Bryce seemed dead set on right now was turning Sarah's life into a nightmare, simply for his own sick, twisted pleasure.

And then there was the question of Bryce himself. The old Bryce, at least. Because how could a person just…cease to exist? There was no way a computer could completely take over a person's mind; there had to be some sort of motivation, some type of humanlike conscience present. The last he remembered, the Intersect was a computer full of information. Government secrets. Abilities, too, but how was that any different? Encryptions. Ones and zeros. That's all they were.

Chuck raised a hand in front of his face and flexed it. Human Intersect. That's what they'd called him, back when he'd had their computer in his brain. Someone who hosted an entire system's worth of encrypted information in his mind. But was it really possible to have it the other way around? An Intersected human, an actual biological robot?

Chuck frowned. No. There had to be a piece of Bryce left, somewhere in the insanity that was the Intersect. Why else would this new Bryce be relentlessly hunting down his former partner instead of attempting to destroy mankind like they always did in the movies?

And if somewhere, deep down, the old Bryce still existed, then there was a chance that he could be saved, right?

Chuck flicked his gaze over to Sarah, who was back to being the living embodiment of tension, her eyes clouded over and calculating as they stared off into the darkness ahead. Sarah, who had seen firsthand what Bryce had become, who had probably tried numerous times to bring him back and failed. Who had broken down in tears right after recounting the horrors she'd had to face at the hands of her corrupted partner.

He shook his head and looked away. No, now was definitely not the time to bring up thoughts of saving Bryce. Hell, now was not the time to talk about Bryce directly at all. He'd have to keep that to himself for now, let it brew in his mind a little longer, at least until Sarah was willing to open up a little more.

But where exactly did that leave them? He could reflect all he wanted on the things he'd learned tonight, but he was still stuck in a hole that was getting deeper and deeper with every minute that passed. A hole, no doubt, that Sarah had been trapped in for well over a year. Again, he focused his attention on her. Beneath the layers of tension, determination, and fear, he could sense the very real feeling of defeat. She wasn't just tired; she was exhausted, mentally and emotionally worn out.

And that scared him beyond belief. Because this was _Sarah Walker_, the CIA's premier agent and the strongest person he'd ever met. The fact that she'd lasted this long was nothing short of incredible. But as terrifying as it was to admit it, even Sarah had her limits. How much longer would she be able to run and evade? How much longer before she gave in to impending hopelessness?

And what about him? How long would _he_ last? Sarah had said that the government was on Bryce's side; didn't that mean that he was a target now, too? If Sarah had been a part of this for so long without any success, how was he supposed to handle it, now that he was stuck with the same fate?

Chuck rubbed both hands over his face. He couldn't. He simply wasn't cut out for this. There was a reason he'd opted out of the spy game two years ago, and everything that had happened since then only confirmed it. That didn't matter, though; just like Sarah, he didn't have a choice. It was either run or die trying, wasn't it?

Wait a second, Chuck thought, straightening. They were together now. Wasn't that was Sarah had been so worried about, that Bryce would come after him and kill him instead? If that was the case, then maybe there was still hope after all. There had to be somewhere they could go that was safe, anywhere, as long as they were as far away as possible from Bryce and his death traps. Maybe they could leave the country, get off the government's and Bryce's radars for good.

Except, Chuck realized, heart dropping into his stomach, that nowhere was safe. Even if they truly went off-grid, there was always the danger of Bryce turning his sights on the next victim, someone who never deserved to die, and it'd be their fault, all their fault for letting it happen.

The sickening realization came out of nowhere. Without warning, Chuck shot up and slammed his hands onto the dashboard. Sarah let out a small shriek and nearly swerved off the road; cursing loudly, she jerked the wheel back in place before whipping her head around to give him a panicked once-over.

"_WHAT? What's wrong? What?"_

"Ellie!"

"What? What about—" The name took a moment to register, and when it did, she let out a shuddering breath and frowned. "Chuck, no. Bryce hasn't gone after her before, there's no reason he would now."

"Why not? You said that the government is on Bryce's side. Well the government tried to take me in today, and I ran. What if Bryce is targeting me now, too? We have to go back, Sarah. I don't care what you say; Ellie's not safe in Burbank. She and Devon need to get out of there!"

"Chuck, the odds—"

"Aren't work risking." His eyes hardened. "She's my _sister_, Sarah. We have to get them to safety."

Sarah exhaled in frustration. "It's not that simple, Chuck. Do you know how dangerous it is for us right now? They've already got people looking for you, and I'm a rogue agent. If we get caught—"

"Then at least we _tried!"_ Chuck said, slamming his palm against the dashboard again. "What if it were me, Sarah? Would you leave me behind, too? Let the government or Bryce get their hands on me first?"

Sarah flinched, and Chuck knew he'd hit finally home. It wasn't fair of him to say, and he'd probably regret being so harsh later on. Frankly, though, he couldn't care less at the moment. Because if Ellie was in danger, if she got hurt, or killed…he would never forgive himself. His hands clenched into fists.

"We have to go back."

Sarah's face was unreadable. No eye contact, no words. The only indication that showed she had heard him was a tighter grip on the wheel. Chuck waited, unwavering.

One fleeting glance in his direction sealed the deal. Chuck let out the breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding, then sprang up to clutch the door roof handle as Sarah screeched into a U-turn.

"We have to be quick," she said, her voice strained. "We'll have half a day's head start at best before Bryce realizes we weren't caught in the explosion."

Chuck eyed the speedometer as it crept past 85. "That's more than enough time, right?"

"Only if the government doesn't catch us first."

"Then we'll just have to play it smart."

Sarah's eyes flicked towards his. Her voice softened considerably. "Are you sure about this?"

No, Chuck thought, of course not. He was scared out of his mind. He could barely process the horrors she'd described to him, much less hope to survive. He'd woken up this morning thinking that it would just be another monotonous day, and now he was sitting in a car with the woman who'd disappeared from his life nearly a year ago, charging straight back into the chaos he thought he'd escaped forever. Of course he wasn't sure about this.

Chuck took a deep breath, steeled his nerves, and nodded.

_Let's do this._

_

* * *

_

_I'd like to take the time to bring to the light another Chuckfic author, **William Ashbless**! Kill Bryce's basic premise (now that it has been revealed) has a couple of similarities to his completed story, Chuck vs the Bête Noire, and while I assure you that Kill Bryce is running on a completely different track, I wanted to personally thank **William** for having his story serve as somewhat of an inspiration for this one. Thanks, **Will**! :)_

_And now for the slightly bad news. (Cue collective groans) Truth is, college is kicking my ass. I haven't been able to type up anything on the next chapter since school started up a few weeks back, which means my buffer is fading FAST. I'm going to try my hardest to make the bi-weekly update deadline, but at this point, I can't make any guarantees. (Sorry, school comes first. Unfortunately. Heh.) I've got a progress bar up for Kill Bryce over at our blog, **Castle Inanity**, so be sure to check there every so often to see how the chapter (along with chapters of other amazing stories) is coming along. For now, m__y apologies...no new snippets for you this time around. _

_See you on the 26th, hopefully!_


End file.
